


Smoking Gun

by XaviaAndromedovna



Category: Franklin & Bash, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst and Humor, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dubious Consent because Peter Hale, Episode Related, F&B 1x1 with references to later events, Future fic (kinda), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Imprisonment, Infidelity, Legal Drama, Multi, Non-Consentual Bite, Potentially Abusive Relationship, References to BDSM, TW Canon Compliant through 3x9, open-ended Peter Bash/Jared Franklin, somewhat asshole!Sheriff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XaviaAndromedovna/pseuds/XaviaAndromedovna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon compliant F&B all seasons, TW through 3x9 with spoilers from 3x10-12. Divergent timeline: F&B canon takes place 2005-2007, TW canon takes place 2020-2021</p><p>When Stiles is arrested for accidentally killing Aiden instead of the darach, his desperate need for a lawyer brings Franklin & Bash up from Malibu as a personal favor to the sheriff.  Of course, exactly <i>how</i> the lawyers know the sheriff might just be as interesting as their induction into the world of werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday, 2021

**Author's Note:**

> OH MY GOD I actually finished this. This started as a plot bunny/fangirl moment over the summer when I started watching F&B. If you've seen the pilot and Teen Wolf, you know why this is necessary.
> 
> I wrote this for Round 3 of [Teen Wolf Big Bang](http://teenwolf-bb.livejournal.com) on LJ, and it would not have been anywhere near possible without my invaluable beta, [darkravenwrote](http://darkravenwrote.livejournal.com). I also want to thank profusely [chosenfire28](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com) for creating art for this despite computer rebellions; you can find these goodies [here](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/290205.html).
> 
> Trigger Warnings: This fic contains dub-con elements/a potentially emotionally abusive relationship; passing implications of rape/non-con; imprisonment; a non-con bite; and infidelity. See the note at the end if you need more details on warnings.

(art by chosenfire28)

Sheriff Evan Stilinski has been having a rough year.  Or two...  Okay, maybe he qualifies for the honor of Rough Life, but specifically the past eighteen months have been Hell, because he has found himself the most confused man in Beacon Hills.  There was a time when his job made sense, when crimes had motive, opportunity, and means.  There was even a time when the job was about right and wrong; he learned the error of his naïve ways a long time ago.  But ever since Laura Hale showed up dead, he simply has no idea what the holy fuck is going on in this town.

For example, his son is currently in jail for accidentally killing a werewolf instead of a rogue magician- _thing_.  Assuming there’s even enough whiskey in the world to process that, there’s nothing he can do about it.  His deputy is an eyewitness (through some miracle managing to avoid spotting anything supernatural, _of course_ ), and furthermore he can’t be involved because it would be a conflict of interest.

He needs a lawyer.  Plan A was Mr. Whittemore, on the basis of a hunch that Jackson had had something to do with the supernatural nonsense that was going on last year, but he’s currently in London with his family.  Since he doubts any of Stiles’ werewolf friends know the first thing about law, he has to go to Plan B.

‘God help us all,’ he muses ruefully.

~~~

Jared Franklin is a naturally loud, over-the-top person.  There are a lot of times in his line of work where this is to his credit.  This is not one of those times.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?”

Though Jared can’t see it through the phone, Sheriff Stilinski raises his eyebrows at that.  He guesses that if he were actually trying to get them in trouble with the law, this wouldn’t be anywhere near their first time.

“My son is in jail, and you two chuckle-heads are the only ones I know who are slippery enough to clear his name.”

“Why thank you, sir!  We’re flattered!”

“How soon can you be on a plane?”

Jared bursts out laughing for a solid five minutes.  Well, only twenty seconds in sober time.  At any rate, he’s rolling around on the floor cackling.  Pindar walks by, shakes his head, and closes his bedroom door.

“Mr. Franklin?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just, well, Peter and I can’t exactly _fly_ , we’re… kinda banned for life.  Where’d you say you were?”

“Beacon Hills.  I can send someone to pick you up; they’ll be there in about five hours.”

“Whoa.”  Jared’s attention peaks at that.  “Just how much trouble is he in?”  Jared waves Peter over to the sidebar, suddenly much more worried about this potential case.

“The eyewitness is my deputy, and, well… there are some case details we’ll need to discuss in a more private setting.”

“Uhh… sorry Sheriff but this might be a little out of our league…”

“Trust me, I think it’s just up your alley of weird.  What’s your address?”  Peter mouths ‘what’s wrong?’, but Jared just frowns and gives Stilinski the address.

“Thank you.  Chris Argent will arrive at oh-four-hundred to escort you here.  I suggest you sober up.”

“Will do, sir.”  Sheriff Stilinski hangs up as Peter makes a confused face at Jared.

“What was that all about?”

“I think I just found us a case.  For tonight.”

“ _What_?  Jared, are you out of your mind?  What court’s even open this late?”

“We’re being picked up later tonight and driven to Beacon Hills to meet with our client.”

“Alright, no more drunk dialing for you, buddy.  C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

~~~

When Chris Argent arrives at a Malibu beach house clearly designed for party-hungry bachelors, he is decidedly unamused.  Not only has he been woken from sleep to drive five hours to pick up some inebriated playboys, but he’s expected to trust _them_ with the secrets of the dark?  Either the Sheriff has finally lost it, or they’re the best damn lawyers in the state.

Anyone that knows Franklin and Bash would probably say it’s a little bit of both.

The knocking on the door wakes Peter up first.  By the time he has groggily stumbled half-naked into the foyer, Mr. Argent has already let himself in, standing in the living room with a scowl.

“Holy shhhhh… how did you…”

“I have my methods.  Are you and your partner ready?”

Peter blinks.  “Wait, this is serious?  I thought Jared was just pranking me.”

The intruder is suddenly directly in front of his face, even more displeased.  “Do I look like a joke to you?”

“N- no sir.  I’ll just, uh, hey Jared?  Jared!”  He knocks on his partner’s door.  “Jared, get up.  Our creepy chauffer’s here.”

The shorter man opens his bedroom door sleepily and hangs onto it a few seconds for support.

“Shit…” Jared rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks down at himself, stifling a case of the giggles.  He’s wearing one of Peter’s shirts and _definitely_ someone else’s underwear, but exactly which girl he swapped with last night, he’ll never know.  “Uhh… can you give us like ten minutes?  Clearly we’re not prepared.”

“Clearly.”  At that moment, Carmen comes out of her room and goes to a couch, off of which she takes two hanging bags and two duffels.

“Don’t worry, dudes.  I figured you’d be too hammered to remember to pack, so I got your stuff ready for you.”

“Carmen, you’re an angel.”

“I know.  Just put on some big boy clothes while our friend and I have a little chat.”  The boys go into their bedrooms to change while Carmen fetches her own bag from her room.

“Sorry, but you’re not coming with us.”

“Sorry, but I am.  I’m their digger.”

“Well, no offense, but this case doesn’t need a digger.  The less secrets unearthed the safer everyone is.”

“Mob job?”

Chris smiles.  “In a way, yes.  Though the mob I’m talking about is a lot more dangerous and has a lot more to lose from being exposed.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met.  I’m Carmen Phillips, ex-con artist.”

“Chris Argent, hunter.”

“What do you hunt?”

“You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“Gotta keep digging.”

The amused smile Mr. Argent has been sporting darkens a bit.  “You’re a lot like Stiles.  He’d probably like you.”

“Who’s Stiles?”

“Your client.”

“So I’m in?”

Chris looks towards the doors of the law partners in barely masked disgust.  “You seem like you can keep a secret better than those clowns.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you fill me in while they get their lives together.”

When the boys are finally ready, Chris pulls out his phone and makes the three lawyers crowd around it.

“Before we officially hire you, we need your word that you will _not_ , under any circumstances, reveal to anyone even one word of what I’m about to tell you.”

“We’re lawyers, client confidentiality is hella protected,” Jared shoots Chris a reassuring smile.  Chris frowns.

“What I’m about to show you might be shocking, but it’s the truth, and I need you to promise to handle it maturely.”

“Well, I don’t know about Jared here,” Peter replies with mock dignity, “but I am the pinnacle of maturity.”

“Word of the day?”

“You bet.”  The boys share a conspiratorial smirk.

“ _Boys_!”  Chris snaps.  “Perhaps you noticed that I take this very seriously.  I would appreciate the same courtesy.”

“Sorry, sir.  What is it?”

Reluctantly, Chris pulls out his phone and looks to Carmen.  “You wanted to know what I hunt?  This is it.”

He shows them a video of a boy staring at the camera.  He looks to be about sixteen and is a little oblivious.

“So, should I like say anything or…”

“Scott, just shift.  They’ll hear the rest later.”

“Right, okay.”  Suddenly, Scott’s face starts changing from looking like a normal human boy to some Hollywood creature that needs a new make-up artist.  A flash of light washes out the camera.

“Scott, your eyes have glare, tilt to the side.”  The lawyers see that his eyes are now red and menacing.  As quickly as he changed, he changes back.  The footage ends.

No one speaks for a long, excruciating minute.  Finally, Jared is the first to speak.

“What the fuck was that?”

“A werewolf.  Do you see now why I need the utmost secrecy from you three?”

The newest initiates into the world of the supernatural look at each other in profound shock.  Just as Chris starts getting testy with them, Peter cracks a smile that is quickly matched by Jared’s.

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“DUDE!”

“I KNOW!”

“WEREWOLVES.” They say in unison.

“We’ll take it!”  Peter holds out his hand enthusiastically, which the hunter shakes with great condescension.

Thus begins the longest, most infuriatingly annoying drive of Chris Argent's life.


	2. Sunday

When Jared told him that they would have a case tonight, in Beacon Hills, Peter thought his lovable friend was just spouting drunken nonsense.  When he stumbled out of his room and found out it was true, he was understandably pissed.  But now that _werewolves_ are in the mix, he’s already decided that this is hands-down the best case they will ever work on.

Mr. Argent— “Get it?” Jared whispers to him jovially.  “Like silver?”— had actually been pretty surprised by how well Stiles’ new legal team took the revelation that werewolves are a thing that happens.  He is otherwise unimpressed.

“Wait, wait, so is it just werewolves or—“

“Mostly, yes.  However, recently Beacon Hills has been having a darach problem.”

“What’s a darach?”

“A rogue druid.  Certain druids called emissaries protect the werewolves with magic, but when an emissary turns evil he or she becomes a darach.  That’s what Stiles was trying to kill when he was arrested.”

“Okay, so he didn’t actually kill anyone?”

Chris doesn’t answer for a moment, a fleeting shadow of pain traversing his face.  “Unfortunately, he missed and hit one of the werewolves.”

“Wait, but I thought werewolves were immortal.”

“Let’s just say I’d be out of a job if werewolves couldn’t die.”

“I’m confused, are you with or against the wolves?”

The hunter driving the car is once again thoughtful, processing the past year and its continuously shifting alliances.  “Depends on the day.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Argent.”  Jared’s smile is one of Peter’s favorite things about him, because in moments like this the tiny goofball is unwaveringly sure that the world is a good place.  His smile is pure, and as always it triggers a flutter in Peter’s heart.  “We’ll have Stiles out and killing bad guys again in no time!”

~~~

As exciting as all this new information is, it _is_ still ass o’clock in the morning, and halfway through the drive Franklin and Bash are fast asleep.  About an hour out from Beacon Hills, Carmen gets a call from Pindar.

“Hey Pindy, what’s up?”

“Oh nothing, just Rachel King on the other line wondering why the HELL THEY’RE NOT IN THE MEETING!”

“Shit,” she mutters.  “Put her on for me?”

“Your funeral…”  Pindy transfers Carmen to a clearly agitated Rachel.

“Ms. King, how are you?”

“Where are they?”

“On a case.  We got called to Beacon Hills on urgent business in the middle of the night.  I can’t give you too many details right now, but I’ll explain everything later today.  We wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t extremely important.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.  Put one of them on.”

“They’re sleeping.”

“Then wake them up.”  Rachel’s voice is no-nonsense on a normal day, but she seems particularly unsympathetic as Carmen nudges Bash awake.

“Boss lady wants to yell at you.”

“Of course,” Peter huffs as he begrudgingly takes the phone.  “Hi, Rachel!  I’m guessing you didn’t get my email?”

“Peter, do I seem like the type of person who falls for that trick?”

“It’s not a trick.  Check your spam folder.”

She lets out a world-weary sigh, but he can hear clicking as she starts her orders.  “You two were supposed to be here ten minutes ago and— oh, why so you did.”

“We’re on our way to see our client now.  He’s in a lot of trouble and we need to act fast before people get hurt.”

“This sounds dangerous.  Who is this client?”

“Sheriff Stilinski of the Beacon Hills Police Department.  His son is on trial for murder.  Look, I’d tell you more, but quite frankly, we’re pretty in the dark ourselves right now.  It’ll be fine; we trust the Sheriff.”

His boss huffs into the phone but forces out a “fine”.  Jared has just woken up and mouths ‘Rachel?’, to which Peter nods with a roll of his eyes.  “But you keep me posted hourly and if I get even a whiff of trouble I’m coming down there and pulling the plug.”

“Sure thing.”

“Oh, and I still expect you to phone in for partner meetings, like, right now.”

“Well, would you look at that, Jared just woke up!  I’m sure he’d love to hear the partners’ meeting.  Talk to you later!”  He hands the phone to a still groggy Jared, who glares with all the venom he can manage hungover.

“I hate you,” he growls as Peter beams.  “No, no!  Not you!”

~~~

It’s mornings like the dewy one Evan can see from his former office window, dawning red and tranquil, that he misses his wife the most.  His only son is in jail, the darach _and_ the alpha pack are still on the loose, and Chris Argent is driving his past to town to haunt him.  Not forty-eight hours ago, werewolves were mythology, a fanciful story that had no bearing on the seemingly endless ‘animal attack’ cases he’s had lately.  Forty-eight hours ago, he would have had no trouble believing Stiles was a serial killer, because no one shows up to that many crime scenes innocent.  And right now, he wishes the boy’s mother were here, because he’s right; she would have believed him.  She never would have doubted him.  In fact, she probably would have figured it out years ago and saved him the trouble of lying about it.  She understood their son in a way his father never would and, though he loves the little hellion, believing him is no easy task.

In retrospect, it’s embarrassingly obvious.  But hearing Stiles explain it in his convoluted manner, the Hale girl rolling her eyes in the corner trying (poorly) not to pass out, he wanted nothing more than to slap the boy silly for the continuous lies he’d been subjected to all year.  Of course, watching a werewolf fight go down is a pretty easy way of convincing oneself of their reality.  His son had become a stranger, but hearing Lydia describe how he stared down Jennifer Blake for the sake of everyone he cared about, not letting his visible fear cripple him as he tried his damnedest to save his father, he was a stranger the Sheriff was nothing but proud of.  Somehow, through all the lying and sneaking around and copious amounts of illegal activity, he had grown into a brave, fiercely loyal, and determined young man with a good head on his shoulders.  

Evan might not know the boy that got himself arrested for his friends’ sakes, but he wants to.

A knock on the door interrupts these thoughts as Chris leads in three familiar faces.

“Boys, Carmen.”  He shakes their hands firmly.  “I’m glad you came.  I’m a little… in over my head with this one.”

“No problem, Sheriff!” Bash responds, clapping his back, which earns him an eyebrow from everyone carrying a weapon.  “Not gonna lie, I’m still a little confused about, well, everything, but we’re really excited about this case.”

“Mmm…”  Evan continues to eye them warily.  “Well, I just wanna reiterate how important it is that you keep everything to yourselves.”

“We totally get it, Sheriff Stilinski,” Jared assures.  “Not a peep to anyone!”

“I don’t just mean about the case; if you could not mention how exactly we know each other either, that’d be much appreciated.”

An amused look passes between the lawyers.  He’s not talking about the speeding ticket a few years back.

“You got it!”

“Alright then.  Let’s get started.”

~~~

Throughout the morning, Rachel’s instincts about Franklin and Bash’s case gnaw at her.  She’s reluctant to shut it down; after all, it _does_ get those two troublemakers out of the office for a while, and a potentially high-profile case like this can only be good for them if they win.  

If.  It’s this one tiny modifier that has her calling Damien Karp into her office.

“I want to you go to Beacon Hills and keep an eye on the Tweedles.  Don’t let them know you’re there, just find out what’s going on and keep me updated.”

“No disrespect, but am I really the best option for this?”

“I’m shocked!  You’re going to turn down an opportunity to bust them?”

Damien thinks it over for a second.  “You’re right, I’ll do it.”


	3. Saturday

Of all the players in the magically saturated spectacle that was their lives, Stiles Stilinski was not an obvious choice for The Only One Who Can Save Us All (possible exaggeration).  Scott was a True Alpha or whatever, Derek was an _actual_ alpha, Lydia could freaking _predict someone’s death_ , hell even the twins were more likely heroes than the token human with the missing father.  But this, of course, was the difference, because while Derek had a dying sister to save and Scott was busy sorting out alpha nonsense, it was up to Stiles to find his father.  

He started at Deaton’s because there was bound to be something useful in that cryptic noggin of his.  Deaton had no idea.  In fact, no one seemed to remember where the hell this nemeton was supposed to be, so it looked like Stiles was once again stuck with Plan B: go in guns blazing.

It was a testament to how far they’d come as friends that Lydia answered the phone at all, especially since she was in the middle of celebrating not being dead with Aiden at the time.  She dragged her boytoy to Deaton’s and the four of them concocted a plan to save Stiles’ dad-- and maybe stop Jennifer at the same time.

“Jennifer is a dark druid,” Deaton explained, “and therefore she gets her power from tipping the balance in favor of destruction.  We can’t overpower her perhaps, but we can slow her down by restoring some balance to Beacon Hills.”

“How do we do that?”

“She intends to use your father as a guardian.  If we can’t rescue him, then we can beat her to it.”

Eyes dilating, Stiles got in Deaton’s face, livid.  “Did you _seriously_ just suggest killing my dad?!”

“No,” the man insisted, calm as ever.  “He doesn’t need to die.”

Stiles was still fuming.  “Then what?  Maimed?  Tortured?”

“Stiles.”  Deaton’s voice was still calm, but thick with clear authority.  “You _must_ remain calm.  Let me explain.”  The boy wasn’t happy about it, but he acquiesced.  “Sacrifices of life aren’t the only ways to trigger magical properties, but they are the most powerful, which is why we must be flawless if we want a chance against her.  By taking their lives, she absorbs their life force and powers into herself.  But if we each sacrifice ourselves to each other, we may retain our life force while gaining some of each others’ strengths.  Think: I am a healer; Lydia, a philosopher; Aiden, a warrior; and if I may venture a guess, Stiles, a virgin.”  Aiden chuckled, Stiles blushed.  “If we combine our powers and claim the Sheriff as our guardian before she can claim him as hers, we could gain enough of an upper hand to give us an opening to defeat her.”

The three teens looked around to each other and saw the determination in each others’ eyes.  “Tell us what to do.”

The four returned to the school, where Deaton managed to salvage a few drops of the sheriff’s blood from a puddle on the floor.  They dropped it and some mistletoe into a basin and each drew blood into it.  When they had soaked the badge in it, the teens worked to melt it down into two bullets that would fit Stiles’ dad’s gun while Deaton set to summoning Jennifer to them.  Just as they loaded the bullets into the gun, Jennifer showed up.

“Well, well I’m impressed—“

Stiles fired the gun.  He’d had enough evil speeches for one lifetime.  It hit her in the right forearm.  The look of shock on her face was a welcome sight as blood poured from the wound.  The next second was a blur and by its end the second bullet had left the gun, a mountain ash circle surrounded Jennifer, and Aiden lay on the ground, the bullet in his head where it ricocheted off the barrier.

Aiden was already starting to heal, but not before Jennifer summoned the wind, which carried some wolfsbane she had in her pocket and whipped it straight into the wound.  He stopped healing.  She gave Stiles a glance equal parts sympathy and smugness before the winds carried her away.  While he still held the gun limply in shock, the deputy entered the room, his own gun drawn.

“Drop it.”  He did.  His whole world dropped with it.

~~~

The list of people Stiles doesn’t want to see right now is pretty long.  After getting arrested, all he wants before his lawyers arrive is a nap, but once again Beacon Hills’ werewolf drama has other plans for him.

“What do you want, Derek?”

The alpha says nothing.  The two stay like that for a minute, Stiles lying on his cot waiting for Derek to respond, Derek frowning at Stiles with his angry eyes.  Eventually, Derek huffs in annoyance and sits on the cement floor, leaning tiredly against the bed frame.

“I can still smell Matt in here,” Derek starts.  Stiles sits up.  He was in no way expecting a sharing circle with the man, let alone a statement so vulnerable.

“Yeah… it’s, kinda hard to be here, after all that happened with him.”  He sees the back of Derek’s head nod.

The werewolf lets out a single grunt of laughter.  “At least we’re not paralyzed this time.”

Stiles chuckles at that.  It’s genuine mirth, something he thought he’d left out in the real world.  “You loved being stuck with me and you know it.”  The boy can practically _hear_ him rolling his eyes.  Tentatively, he shuffles down to the floor and sits beside Derek.

“How’d you get in here?”

“Told the guard I was your boyfriend and that not letting me see you was discrimination.”

“HA!” Stiles snorts.  “I’m surprised he fell for that.”

“Yeah, I was too, not gonna lie.”  The two laugh and descend into a companionable silence for a minute before Stiles dares broach one of the many sore topics between them.

“I’m sorry about Jennifer.”

“Yeah,” Derek mumbles.  “Me too.”

“What I said earlier, I shouldn’t have—“

“No.  You were right.”  The words Stiles yelled at him during his one phone call echo guiltily in the prisoner’s head: ‘ _Me be quiet? Me? Are you telling me what to do now? When your psychotic mass-murdering girlfriend -- the second one you've dated, by the way – has got my dad somewhere, tied up, waiting to be ritually sacrificed, and I’m probably going away for life for actually DOING something about it?’_ “This is all my fault, just like Kate was my fault.”

Stiles whips around to face him.  “Kate was _not_ your fault, and neither was this!  Dude, I was _wrong_.  Throwing that in your face like that was a really douchetastic thing to do and I’m sorry.  I just, I wish you’d trust me.”

“Yeah, well, no offense, but last time we trusted you to take care of it you ended up in here.”

Stiles is shocked into silence by the weight of that statement.  He stays in this state for so long that Derek turns toward him, concerned.

“I’m scared.”  The desperation threatens to consume the teen like a throbbing darkness.  He’s faced werewolves and kanimas and darachs, and yet _this_ , this is the most frightening thing Stiles can imagine.

“Stiles, I—“

“Derek, I’m in _jail_.  For _murder_.  I killed someone.  I can’t just talk my way out of this one.  And on top of that, Jennifer’s still out there gathering sacrifices and the only plan we’ve got is stuck here.  Not to mention whatever Deucalion’s up to, I just— we might actually lose this one and it’s all my fault.”

“Hey.”  Derek’s attempt at a comforting face is painfully awkward and elicits a wan smile from Stiles.  “We’ll figure this out.  We’re gonna find her and I swear to you she will get what’s coming to her if it’s the last thing I do.  And if the alphas try anything they’ll be sorry they got in my way.”

Stiles snorts.  “You gonna rip their throats out with your teeth?”  Perhaps that’s a smile somewhere in Derek’s eyes.  “Why are you here?”

Derek stiffens at that.  “They’re trying to charge you with all the murders Jennifer committed.”

“SERIOUSLY?!  That bitch!”  Stiles is fuming, but he stills a bit when he sees the frustration in Derek’s face.  “Oh no, there’s more isn’t there?”

“Mr. McCall is in town.  He’ll be here any minute to question you.”

Stiles sets his jaw and lets out a slow, uneven sigh.  “Seriously?  On top of everything I have to face that douchebag?”

“You don’t have to,” Derek mumbles.

“What do you mean?”

He’s not sure when Derek started caring, but it’s obvious that he does in the way he hesitates before poking the elephant in the room.  “Stiles, there’s no clean way out of this.  You said so yourself, all the smooth talking and fancy law and covering up in the world won’t make this go away.  Best case scenario, you get involuntary manslaughter and an awful reputation.  No matter what happens, your dad will never work a case again, and you’ll be a criminal.”

“Yes, Derek, I’m well aware how totally _fucked_ I am!”

“So then you know that the longer you stay here the more fucked you’ll be.”

“If you’re suggesting that I follow the time-honored Hale pack tradition of being a fugitive, then you’re fucking insane,” the human hisses.  “Alright, maybe you and Isaac were framed but I actually did the crime I’m accused of.  I can’t just run away from that forever.”

“You committed one of _thirteen_ crimes you’re accused of.”

“Yeah, and escaping now would be an admission of guilt for all thirteen.  I can’t do that to my dad, Derek, I just can’t.  I… I’d rather be locked up for a few years and fight to prove my innocence than lose my dad forever.  Besides,” Stiles adds with a sardonic smile, “it’ll be a lot harder for people to kill me in here.”  Derek frowns at Stiles, who just shrugs.  Suddenly, he remembers something.  “I know how to find my dad.”

“How?”

“When I shot Jennifer, I got a flash, just for a second, of a tree stump.  It was this huge flat thing and… there was a door…”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.  But I think Danny could find it using satellite imagery.”  He tries to tear his shirt, which Derek helps him with.  “I need you to take some of my blood.”

“Stiles--”

“Just do it.  You need it to stop her.”  Reluctantly, Derek draws a claw lightly across Stiles’ wrist and sops it up with the shirt.

“Thank you.”

"Yeah, well," Stiles hedges, climbing back into his bed.  "You owe me big time, sourwolf.  And if I get the chair for this, I am totally making ghosts a thing and haunting your ass."


	4. Sunday

When he hears the cell door slide open, Stiles lifts his head wearily and glares red, puffy daggers at the deputy testifying against him.

“Your lawyers are here.”  The deputy escorts the resigned teen to the interrogation room where he is greeted by two attractive thirty-something men who look as hungover has he feels emotionally.

“Mr. Stilinski, nice to meet you.  I’m Peter Bash, this is Jared Franklin.”  The three shake hands as the deputy leaves and Stiles sits across from them with forced calm.

“So do you want the official version or did they prepare you for the director’s cut?”

“We got Werewolf 101 if that’s what you mean,” Jared smiles.  Stiles watches the men for a second.  Even if his dad trusts them for some reason that he will totally burrow into later, he still needs to evaluate them for himself.  It’s a long shot he’ll ever see the outside of a cage again, but if he does have a chance, he has to make sure it counts.  Eventually, it’s their sincerity coupled with genuine excitement about the endless wonder of the supernatural that clinches it.  He might also be a little intrigued by how _very_ comfortable with each other they clearly are.  He sighs.

“Where should I start?”

~~~

When Stiles has finished his tale, the three are dead silent for a long while.  Finally Peter lets out a stunned, “Fuck.”

A minute later, Jared responds with his own incredulous, “Fuck.”

“I don’t even… _fuck_!”

“Stiles,” Jared starts with as much sympathy in his voice as possible.  “I’m not sure there’s anything we _can_ do for you…”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“But we’re not giving up,” Peter is quick to add.  “We’re probably stuck with Aiden’s death, but we’re not gonna let them stick you with the other twelve.”

“Good!  Because, you know, I may be in jail for murder but at least I’m not a _serial killer_ …”

For two men not used to Stiles’ flavor of sarcasm, this sounds more like an attack than it is.  Stiles rolls his eyes and cuts the crap.  “I trust you.  You’re my only hope so I might as well cling to it.”

“It’s going to be a long night,” Jared whispers to Peter as they leave their despondent client.  Bash can’t help but agree.

~~~

Cora has been taking care of herself for the past seven years.  She has no idea why Peter insists on having Mrs. McCall look after her now.  It could have something to do with his creepy attraction towards the nurse, but he has that with everybody.

“I’m fine,” she groans as Mrs. McCall lets herself in.

“And I’m the one who went to nursing school, so why don’t you let me verify that.”  She goes about inspecting Cora’s symptoms and smirks at the way Cora begrudgingly complies.

“It seems to be lifting.”

“Told you I was fine.”

“Well, I don’t know about you but I’ve never seen a sick werewolf before this, so it doesn’t hurt to make sure there are no more surprises.”  Cora keeps her mouth shut because, well, she’s not wrong.  “I expect you’ll be completely back to normal tomorrow, but I want you to stay in bed today.  You still look fatigued and a little pale.”

“Fine.”  Mrs. McCall packs up her things and starts to leave, then stops, staring hard at something.  “What is it?”

“Is that… is that a St. Andrew’s cross?”  Cora follows her line of vision to the metal contraption hanging on the wall.

“I guess?  I dunno, I don’t question the artistic choices he makes.”

“Right,” she chuckles, “artistic…”

When Mrs. McCall leaves, Cora looks the thing up on the internet and promptly closes her laptop.  She can’t decide whether she’s more alarmed that she learned so much about Peter’s sex life, or about Melissa’s.

~~~

Peter Bash is the king of the all-nighter.  Or at least, he was in school, but his no-sleep nights nowadays are mostly caused by hanging out with his partner and their friends, not by work.  Still, for him the all-nighter is half science, half art.  He has their makeshift office— formerly Derek Hale’s strategy table— outfitted with coffee, energy drinks, some of Stiles’ excess Adderall, snacks, air horns, notepads and every law book the boys own.  Derek even pitches in to help build a case; he’d studied law at school after getting his GED, but dropped out to go find Laura.  

The three of them and Carmen are crowded around the table, most of them mentally banging their heads against it in frustration.  Peter has a white board bedecked in angry scribbles that purport to clarify various dilemmas Stiles’ situation brings up.  He’s staring at it while he thinks out loud.

“Okay, so manslaughter’s out because he was still attempting a felony… any other ideas?”

“Resurrect Jennifer and kill her again?”  Peter’s starting to understand why Stiles calls him Sourwolf.

“Wait, so resurrection’s possible?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Jared, c’mo— wait, really?”  The lawyers look incredulously at Derek, who is characteristically unfazed.

“Why do you think my uncle’s still here?”

Silence.  Then: “That’s fucking terrifying.”

“Anyway…” Carmen leads.  “The arraignment tomorrow is going to be a shitshow, so we should probably figure out if we’re pleading guilty or not.”

“To which ones?”

“Okay,” Jared interjects as he gets out of his chair half-pacing, half-approaching his partner’s artwork.  “If we plead not guilty to Jennifer’s murders, the prosecution’s gonna have to show beyond a reasonable doubt that Stiles did it, which they can’t because he _didn’t_.”

“Right.”

“But if they probe any further, we might get put in a position where the only logical explanation is werewolves.”

“Not necessarily,” Peter says, turning to face Jared, the wheels turning on another scheme.  “We don’t have to prove that Jennifer killed them, just that Stiles didn’t.  If we can demonstrate without a doubt that he couldn’t possibly have committed even one of those murders, then their whole theory gets blown out of the water and all they’ve got is Aiden.”

“And there’s no way he could have killed the pianist because he was in the auditorium and he didn’t have access to the piano to tamper with it.”

“But are you sure they won’t throw the pianist out?”    Carmen’s head is buried in a large manila folder, concentration face in full force.  “Not only does that one not fit the pattern, but she changed MOs halfway through.”

“No she didn’t,” Derek notes.  “Asphyxiation with mistletoe as a calling card.  It’s more consistency than a lot of other people with this many victims.”  Jared cocks his head at the man with confused awe.  “Stiles isn’t the first member of the pack to be accused of being a serial killer,” Derek deadpans.

“It’s like every time he opens his mouth something awful comes out.”  Jared shakes his head and resumes staring at the board, shoulder brushing against Peter’s arm.  Whether the taller man’s smile at him is for his comment or for the brief contact is really no one’s business but theirs.

“So we plead not guilty on everything but Aiden.”

“But if he’s not a serial killer then why did he kill Aiden?”

Peter shrugs.  “It was an accident.  He was trying to shoot someone else and missed.  Friendly fire.”

“Against who, the witch lady?”

“Carmen’s right, if we talk about Jennifer they’ll want to know _why_ he was trying to kill her.”

“She’s a killer.”  Franklin nods a smile at Bash, both on the same page about where to go with this.  “She came for Stiles and his friends, he tried to defend himself and missed, she bolted, and before Stiles could react the police showed up.”

Derek lets out an ‘mhmm’ of disapproval.  “And when the police try to find her?”

“Who killed the serial killer?” Carmen adds dryly.

The loft alarm blares and Derek is immediately in a defensive position in front of his guests.

“Everyone stay behind me,” he growls through elongating teeth.

“There’ll be no need for that, Derek,” Deucalion calls as Kali opens the loft door.  The two saunter in with characteristic menace.  Behind them trail Ethan and Scott.  “We have a proposition to make.”

~~~

From a numbers standpoint, they’re evenly matched, but the distinct lack of werewolves on Derek’s side right now is more than disconcerting.  This is _the_ worst time for a werewolf bloodbath; there’s no way in Hell he can protect everyone.

“Really, Scott?”  Derek wants to rip him limb from limb, but restraint is key.

“Scott has decided to join us voluntarily.  His price is that we leave Beacon Hills intact.  Now that we have a true alpha among us, we have no use of you.  Frankly, Derek, we don’t think you’re worth the effort.”  Derek growls at that.  “So we shall be leaving, but first, we have a sort of… debt, to settle.  Since a certain alpha is responsible for creating the darach in the first place, and Stiles has taken care of the problem for us, she has been volunteered to ease some of his burden.”  He clears his throat, and Kali unhappily steps forward, hands raised in peace.

“If you give us the body, I will call the police and tell them I shot her in self defense.  I would have been her target anyway for what I did to her, so she has motive to try and kill me.  I tell them she committed the other murders, and they drop the charges on Stiles, and all you have to prove is that killing Aiden was an accident.”

Franklin and Bash share an excited, relieved look.  “That’s great, we’ll—“

“Not so fast.”  Derek has not moved from his spot in front of them, and he doesn’t intend to.  “What’s the catch?”

“Derek, my boy.  You’re not exactly in a position to bargain.  I suggest you take the offer while it is still extended to you.”

“How do I know you won’t screw us over?”

Scott steps forward to answer.  “Ethan and I will make sure they do what they say.”

“Do we have an understanding then?”

Derek looks straight through Kali’s eyes and sees the turmoil there.  He sees hatred and humiliation, but he also sees anguish and guilt and— there.  Lost love.  This isn’t about responsibility for her.  It’s about closure.

He grabs his jacket from his chair.  “Grab a shovel.”

~~~

Two minutes of silence follow the departure of the five werewolves.

…

…

“Vodka?”

“Fuck yes.”


	5. Sunday

While his frenemies find out what actually happened, Damien Karp arrives in town and starts at what, to him, is the beginning: the police report.  The case against their client does _not_ look good.  An earwitness heard him kill the other boy in a way consistent with the coroner’s report, and he was arrested on-site with the smoking gun in hand.  “I’d like to see them get out of this one,” he murmurs to himself.  

The bell over the door of the coffee shop where he’s holed himself up all day announces the arrival of a dark-haired man in a suit.  The man is talking animatedly on the phone to someone he clearly sees as beneath him.

“I don’t care if he’s a minor, I’m gonna make every last one of them stick!  This kid is bad news, and his daddy’s not gonna sweep it under the rug this time.”

The man doesn’t notice that someone is watching him intently as he waits in line.  Of course, Damien doesn’t realize _he’s_ being watched either until a voice seated at the table with him calls him on it.

“Sickening, isn’t it?  The lengths some people will go to in order to exploit those they once cared for?  Of course, pot calling the kettle black…”  The impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed, slyly grinning figure before him takes an affected sip of his drink.  It accomplishes his goal; Damien is completely flustered.

“Wha… who… uhh… can I help you?”

“You can start with your interest in my good friend Stiles,” the figure responds offhandedly.  “We can talk about other ways later.”

Karp blushes at the implication, and— as much as the warning bells are ringing at full blast in his head— it’s not an entirely unwelcome proposition.  Seeing Lance again a few years back and knowing that he used to have a shot with his old friend had brought a flood of hidden desires to the forefront that took a while to unpack.  All these things sorted out, he knows the man before him is certainly his type.

“I… just… umm… I’m Damien, Damien Karp, I work with his lawyers.”  He extends a nervous hand, which the man takes coyly.

“Peter Hale.  Tell me Damien, why are you here if your colleagues are with our newest serial killer?”

“Serial killer?”

“That’s what the man said.”

“Awesome, because I’m here to make sure they aren’t in over their heads, which, clearly, they are.”

“Well now, that’s interesting.  The sheriff seems to trust them implicitly, and you don’t seem to trust them at all.  What a story these two must tell.”

Damien laughs.  “Trust me, I could write a book on all the crazy stuff those two get up to.”

Peter smirks.  “That sounded almost fond.”

Karp punches out a laugh, shocked by the realization that over the years, the three have grown to be almost friends.  “Yeah, I guess it did.”

Peter is quiet for a moment, and the voice he next uses might just be the first sincere one Damien’s heard during this entire odd encounter.  “If you knew me better, you’d know that groveling is not something I do lightly.  But please, don’t pull them off of this case.  If you knew just how many people’s lives depend on him getting out of jail as soon as possible, you wouldn’t stand in the way.”

The lawyer furrows his brow in confused thought.  What’s this guy’s angle?  What does he mean, ‘people’s lives’?  Most importantly, who _is_ this guy?

“What do you mean?”

Peter takes a final sip of his coffee and places a calculated hand on Damien’s.  “Perhaps it’s better to show you.”

Damien lets him.

~~~

Damien may or may not be convinced that the actual serial killer here is Peter Hale.  He voices this opinion semi-facetiously and it elicits a genuine laugh from his walking buddy.

“A year ago,” Peter admits coyly, “you would have been correct.”

Damien stops walking and is visibly considering bolting for the nearest possible eyewitness, whom they passed about five minutes ago on their way to Peter’s apartment.

“Relax, I’m kidding!”  Damien almost misses the “mostly” Peter adds under his breath.  Almost.  “Now, what do you say we go up to my apartment and I’ll tell you all about Beacon Hills’ little…oddity?”  Peter’s eyes are directly in front of his.  In this light, they look the slightest bit bluer, more electric.  Suddenly, the stranger turns his head, then laughs at something, though Damien has no idea what.  “I forgot my niece is upstairs for a second.  I don’t think she’s too thrilled with this plan.”

“Oh,” the lawyer hedges.  “Well, I guess I should—“

“Nonsense!”  Peter sensually envelops the clearly uncomfortable man’s hand in his.  It distracts him.  “We’ll be quiet.”

Fortunately for Damien, he doesn’t have the super-hearing to catch the fake retching noises above him.

Peter’s apartment is immaculately clean and decorated sparsely yet elegantly.  ‘At least he has good taste,’ Karp thinks to himself.  The apartment’s owner is currently engaged in a whispered argument with the sofa over his presence here.  The sofa is clearly unamused, and if Peter’s dramatic sigh is anything to go by, it probably won.

“Well would you at least come meet him?” he continues, louder for his guest’s benefit.

“Eww!” the sofa retorts.  “Peter, I’m not meeting your one night stand!  It’s weird enough you _have_ a fuck-buddy when I can hear everything from here.’  The last bit is added with a clear subtext, though what the subtext is is not for Damien to uncover.

“Cora, if you please.  I’m trying to make a point.”

“It’s not your point to make.”

By this time, Peter has taken a stance next to Damien, shoulders brushing tantalizingly.  “Come on,” he whispers in his target’s ear before leading him to the sofa.  Cora looks to be in bad shape.  Tissues coated in black ooze litter the area and her fever seems to have only recently broken.

“Is she okay?”  Damien murmurs into Peter’s ear.

“ _She’s_ fine,” the girl snarks, rolling her eyes.  “I’m Cora, who are you?”

“Damien Karp, nice to meet you.”

“Whatever.  Is there a reason you’re parading me around?  I’m pretty sure we should be keeping a low profile right now.”

“I wanted to show Damien what his friends are fighting for.”  An inscrutable face seals out any possible glimpses of his motive as he turns to face Damien.  “Stiles is part of the reason she’s getting better.”  Cora’s clearly uncomfortable hearing that, but she doesn’t comment.  “He’s part of the reason Jennifer Blake is no longer running rampant spilling innocent blood.  He’s a hero, and he needs to be out doing what he does best.”

“And what’s that?”

“Getting in the way.”

~~~

Damien wakes up the next morning to too loud birds outside, a too bright sun, and too strong coffee brewing in the kitchen.  The bed in which he finds himself is too foreign, and the memories of the night before too blurry to piece together.  A stinging in his side makes him throw off the too soft sheets and stare at his absolutely too naked body in horror.  There is a bite on his torso.

What the fuck.

What.

The.

 _Fuck_?

Damien is too old for this shit.

He gulps down his panic and scans the room for his clothes, which he haphazardly dons before venturing out of the bedroom.  Flashes of tongues clashing and moans swelling and bodies writhing paint a pretty erotic picture.  He smirks; at least he remembers _that_ part.  But what happened after?

He follows the banging noise that’s asserting itself at full blast and finds Cora precariously seated at the kitchen table.  She looks up in terror when he approaches.

“No he didn’t.”

“What do you—“ the words die on his lips as her eyes glow golden.  She snarls over fangs, but he can intuit that her anger is not at him.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Damien can feel himself getting antsier and aggravated, and he doesn’t know why, but it feels like it wants to explode out of him.  Cora changes tactics immediately with great concern.  Her face is human again.  “Damien, right?  Damien, you need to remain calm.”

He’s not sure what she means, but he centers himself and the feeling subsides.  It does not, however, go away.  “What’s happening?”

“My uncle’s gonna get cut in half and thrown in the fucking ocean, that’s what’s happening.”

She spends the better part of the morning explaining werewolves to the increasingly confused lawyer.

“Wait, so if only alphas can bite someone… and Peter’s not an alpha…”

“Now do you see the problem?  Peter’s been known to have a few tricks up his sleeve lately.  We need to find out his endgame before he reaches it.”  A text comes through on her phone.  “Fuck.  They’re transferring Stiles this afternoon and I need to see him.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I can’t just take you with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’ll know you’re a werewolf and that’s the last thing he needs in his life right now.”

“But what if I lose control when you’re gone?  What if Peter comes back?”

She grabs his phone and types her number in.  “Peter won’t harm you.  Call me if anything happens and I’ll be here as soon as I can.  DO NOT leave this apartment!”  On a normal day, he’d balk at taking orders from a seventeen-year-old girl.

He realizes grimly that _this_ is his new normal.

Awesome.


	6. Monday

Carmen Phillips loves her job, she really does.  It certainly beats living on the run, and Pindy, Jared, and Peter have come to be family to her, something she sorely craved.  Of course, as with any family, there are times when she wants to strangle them-- like when Franklin almost gets arrested for calling Agent McCall a ‘creepy douchebag’, or when she has to practically tackle Bash to prevent him from accidentally saying the W word in his argument before the judge.

It had really started out like a routine day.  The alphas were true to their word, and the investigating officer assured them that the charges against Stiles for the serial murders would be dropped.  The older two alphas were poised to move on, waiting on the two teens to finish out the week in school before packing up and leaving.  It wasn’t until the first appearance that all hell broke loose.

Instead of dropping the serial killer charges, the DA— on advice from a certain Agent McCall at the FBI— decided to add a charge of conspiracy and noted that a conspiracy investigation against all the wolves had been launched.  When the boys asked the obvious question of the grounds for this decision, it was revealed that the bullet in Jennifer’s head was the same as the one in Aiden’s, and furthermore that she’d been dead a full twenty-four hours before Kali’s 911 call.

The boys are lucky Carmen has their backs, because this is going to be one hard day to save.

~~~

Stiles is to be transferred to a maximum security prison that afternoon.  Everyone in the pack comes to visit him— with varying levels of intense supervision— for what they fear might be the last time.  Isaac gives him some breathing exercises and coping mechanisms to deal with the incarceration.  Allison manages to sneak him some wolfsbane, as well as a sprig of mistletoe and a packet of mountain ash from Deaton, ‘just in case’.  Cora kisses him and whispers in his ear, “I totally underestimated how much of a badass you are.”  Derek just rolls his eyes and offers him a hug.  No one is in the room to witness it.

Danny and Ethan arrive together, though for most of the visit Danny does all the talking.

“You’re going to the same place they’re holding my cousin.  I told him about your situation; just find Simon Mahealani and he’ll protect you.  He told me to tell you that no matter what you say out here, in there you’re the garrotekiller and don’t let anyone think otherwise.  No one messes with a serial killer.”

Stiles doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he chooses neither and tries to break the ice with Ethan.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

“I am.”

“I said DON’T!”  Ethan stands, only to be pulled down by Danny with a pointed look towards the door.  “Look, Stiles, I don’t want to hear it, okay?  Because it’s not okay.  You killed my brother.  And yeah, I get that it was an accident, and that he was a total douchebag to you guys, but he was a part of me.  We literally shared a body sometimes and it feels like I’m walking around without my left side and it...”  Ethan roars and barrels out of the room, exerting every effort not to wolf out.  Danny rushes out after him as Stiles tries his damnedest not to break.

He expects Lydia’s visit to be roughly the same level of awful, but it’s actually fairly anemic.  There’s really nothing to be said between them anymore, or maybe so much that it’s pointless to start; they’ll clearly never finish.  She brushes off his apology and stray locks of hair with one flick of her wrist and tells him he did nothing wrong.  What happened happened and that was that.  She tells him about how they took down the darach using the information he gave Derek.  When her time is up, she kisses him on the cheek and takes his hand in hers.  “You’re not a killer, Stiles.  Don’t let them tell you differently.”

The McCalls are oddly enough the hardest to face.  The hug Melissa offers him is bone-crushing but certainly not unwelcome; it’s charged with the urgent concern of a mother, something he misses all too much right now.  She gives him some statistics and hints for staying healthy in prison, what to do in the case of rape or injury, and many other things that come with the territory of being a healthcare professional.  It’s the Talk he never wanted, but he’s certainly in no position to complain about it.  She leaves him alone with Scott for a while, and they just smile sadly at each other for a moment.

“I think I’ll miss you most of all, scarecrow,” Stiles tries, eliciting an attempted laugh from Scott.

“Let’s be real, I’m your Toto and you know it.”

“HA!  A dog joke from the werewolf!  This is why we’re friends.”  The smiles fade, but they both know that the connection is still there.

“I’ll miss you too,” Scott murmurs.  “I’m sorry I—“

“Don’t say it.  Scott, it’s not always your job to protect me.  I’m the one that failed here, so don’t give me your Derek Hale It’s-All-My-Fault speech.  We can’t save everyone, dude.  But hey, the job is done, and we’ll do better next time.  We have to believe that.”

“I believe it.  You’re my brother, man.  We’ll find a way to—“  He freezes.

“Scott?  What is it?”  But Scott is out the door and by his mother’s side in a flash.  Stiles rushes to lean on the doorway of the interrogation room to see Mrs. McCall standing near Franklin & Bash.  She seems upset by their presence, and he hears them call to her.  “Annie?  Annie Benton?!”

“Mom?  What’s wrong?”

“Wait, Scott’s your son?  How’d that happen?”

“Oh no.  No, we are _not_ doing this now!  Please _God_ can we not do this now?!”

“Mom, are you okay?!”

“Uhh, werewolf-wise, yes, everything’s fine.  But I might throw up if you three insist on being in the same room.”

The guys share a confused glance before aiding Melissa into a chair.  “What do you mean?”

Melissa takes a few calming breaths, mustering up the courage to answer, but before she can, the former Sheriff comes through with the remaining box of his stuff.  “Hey boys, how’s the— ah crap.”

“Yeah.”  The look on Mrs. McCall’s face is all he needs for context.  He sighs.

“Are we doing this now?”

She purses her lips in distaste but lets out a resigned sigh of her own.  “We might as well.”

“Shit.  Alright, everybody in with Stiles.  I’m only telling this story once.”

As they usher Scott and the lawyers into the interrogation room, Scott and Stiles get increasingly worried.  “Story?  Dad, what story?”

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“I should have told you a long time ago…” she says, more to herself than to him.

“Told me _what_?!”

It's Mr. Stilinski that answers Scott's question.  "That I'm your father."


	7. 1979-2005

As anyone even remotely connected to the supernatural would testify, the only thing harder than getting out of Beacon Hills is _staying_ gone.  While explaining that it’s a literal beacon is a bit cliché, there is some pseudo-scientific merit to it, and ample anecdotal evidence supports this claim as well.  For example, when Genim Stilinski and his family managed to emigrate from his native Poland, he was drawn inexplicably to this random town in Middle of Nowhere, California.  The Porters had come to the same town a century earlier chasing rumors of gold and staying for the community that they eventually came to protect as its law.

The Porters and the Stilinskis became next-door neighbors in 1979 two weeks before Genim’s wife gave birth to a baby girl.  Thus, Claudia Stilinski and Evan Porter were friends for as long as they could remember.  Evan was two years ahead of her in school, but she never doubted that they would see each other every day, because that’s just how close they were.  He was her first and only crush, and if the way he looked at her with worshipful exuberance was any indication, he felt the same way about her.  They were each others’ first everything: first friend, first hug, first fight, first dance, first kiss, first break up, first make up, first date, and on their first prom, each others’ first time.

When she was twelve, she started keeping her first secret from him.  It was for his own safety, really, and her father was very clear about not telling anyone who wasn’t related by blood, not even her mother.  She came from a long, distinguished line of emissaries, and a lot of things that she couldn’t explain suddenly started making perfect sense with this knowledge.  She was introduced to the alpha of the Walker pack as their future emissary.  Alpha Walker was a quarrelsome man, but he respected the opinion of his emissary, even if he rarely followed it.  His leadership style made her uncomfortable, but it really wasn’t her business yet, so she kept quiet.

While all magic is more or less the same, Genim’s expertise was not easy to translate to the flora and fauna of California, where rusalki and exotic mushrooms were comparatively scarce.  Claudia started taking lessons from Dr. Deaton (who was teaching his own children, Alan and Marin, around this time) in addition to her father starting her sophomore year.  She also began dating Evan officially around this time, which necessitated her to volunteer at Deaton’s clinic as a cover for her studies.  Of course, it sometimes operated as a cover towards her father as well so she could sneak even more time to be with her boyfriend, as young lovers are wont to do.

Evan stayed in Beacon Hills and worked in the Sheriff’s office at the front desk until Claudia graduated, and in 1997 they set off for UCLA, her studying art under the watchful eye of a respected druid, him studying criminal justice under the watchful eye of his family name.  It was their first time away from home, and their departure filled them with equal parts jubilation and dread.  As much as they were ready to start their lives on their own together, changes were bound to happen that neither of them saw coming in their neat little bubble of a town.  But Claudia was an eternal optimist, and she knew in her heart that she and Evan would figure it out.

Their first two years in LA functioned the same as their first eighteen together, but the more they became involved in their new groups of friends and the allures of the big city and the intensity of their coursework, the more they started drifting apart.  It began so innocuously at first.  He had a test during a showcase of her class’s work.  She accidentally slept through a speaker he wanted to see.  But they still had their apartment and the knowledge that they could pick up wherever they left off in an instant.

The boundaries of their relationship shifted as they both came to identify as feminists near the beginning of the third wave.  Claudia would (similar to her son after her) go off on long rants about reproductive rights or the history of male circumcision or the Bechdel test, and the more he listened, the more Evan became passionate about these same issues.  She picked up a women’s studies minor, and he took as many classes with her as he could fit in his program.  It made her love him even more that he just, _got_ things that she couldn’t articulate until taking these classes.  He was normative in his way, but she knew he had a good heart, a respectful heart.  She knew she was the type to vocally, visibly agitate for change, and that he was the type to listen and foster change behind the scenes, in the everyday court of human interaction.  It made them the perfect combination.

For a while.  They were still drifting.  He became distant, and he would clam up sometimes out of the blue.  Once, they had been talking about BDSM in a class and she tried to engage him in a debate on it back at the apartment.  He simply replied to her assessment that it reinforces pornographized ideals of what sex should be and that the power dynamic is inherently problematic with a nod and a short smile and moved on to something else.  Their sex life was as good as it ever was, but she wasn’t sure he was getting everything from it that he wanted.  When she tried to ask him about it, he clammed up again, kissing her forehead and whispering “it was fine” before turning on his side and trying to sleep.  Her instinct had always been to needle people until they cracked, but she knew that bothered him so she refrained when he got like this.  In retrospect, she should have pushed a long time ago.

Neither of them could ever remember why they broke up midway through senior year, but they did, and they defaulted to a tense but still functional living arrangement while they tried to adjust to being friends again.  During finals week that spring, she finally approached him with, “I still don’t know how to be just friends with you, and I’m not sure I want to be.”  He agreed.

Two years later, he proposed.  They married in the fall of 2004, Evan taking her last name, because why not?  Of course, there was a clerical error and a bunch of problems getting the forms filled out properly.  ("Seriously?" she'd exclaimed.  "It shouldn't be this freakin' difficult for a husband to take his wife's name when all a wife has to do to take her husband's is be a woman.  Fucking patriarchy...")  So when he was summoned to court in the summer of 2005 by Annie Benton, it was under the name Evan Porter.  Claudia wondered, as she packed up and stayed with her mother during the trial, whether he corrected them on the stand.  Given the circumstances, she doubted it.


	8. 2005

As he approached the witness stand, his secret domme eyeing him with defiant hurt, Evan tried to remember how this ended up being his life.

He remembered the first time he heard what BDSM actually is in one of his classes with Claudia.  He remembered being fascinated with the idea that people would actually let someone do those things to them and _like_ it.  He remembered how consent is placed on a pedestal, a sacred rule of best practice that governs every encounter, even the ones where the right to consent is relinquished freely, and how that was what sent him searching for more.  He consumed as much information as he could about the ethics and etiquette of engaging in every kink under the sun, about the sheer number of things he’d never even dreamed of doing in bed.  Most of the things he uncovered showed him just how vanilla he was in comparison, but he at least wanted to know what it’d be like to lose control, not to have to feel the pressure of dominance that the patriarchal culture gave him.  Sure, he and Claudia strove to neutralize that privilege of power in their own sex life, but he didn’t want to neutralize it; he wanted to reverse it.  He wanted to know what it felt like to be at someone’s mercy, to know what it felt like to _trust_ someone so implicitly that he’d let them use his body as they saw fit.

It became increasingly evident to him that Claudia wouldn’t provide that for him.  They broke up their senior year.  As he reached out blindly for a feeling of stability, of control, he found himself asking a friend about things he’d never voiced aloud in his life.  The friend smiled warmly, if smugly, and gave him the name of a dominatrix with whom he might want to explore.  “Oh, and if that doesn’t work out,” the friend added as Evan pocketed the phone number, “I have a whip too if you’re interested.”  He winked with a self-satisfied smirk and sauntered off, leaving Evan sputtering with a bright red complexion in the middle of the quad.

As it turns out, the woman his friend suggested was just what he needed.  Her name was Annie, and she was as beautiful as she was strong.  She told him to meet her at a certain park bench on the far side of campus, where they discussed the contract and settled the bill.  Annie noticed Evan’s considerable disquiet about paying for sex, and soothed him with a gentle hand on his arm.  “Tell you what, why don’t we consider this one a free sample?”

“What?  No, I couldn’t make you--”

“No, you can’t.  Let me put it another way.”  Her hand moved to his thigh.  “You’re gonna let me fuck you for free like a good little boy.”  He nodded vehemently and put his wallet away.

He never pulled it out again any of the times he was with her over the next three and a half years.

~~~

When he got back together with Claudia, he resolved to end things with Annie for good.  It didn’t go quite as he’d planned.

He saw her on the street in front of her apartment.  She wasn’t alone.

“C’mon honey, gimme a discount.”

“Get away from me!”  Evan approached warily.  He could smell the alcoholism from twenty feet away and the guy didn’t look like ‘no’ was in his vocabulary.

“Yeah, I like it when you tell me what to do.”

“Stop!”

“Hey!”  Evan shouted deep in his voice, stance as intimidating as he could muster.  His criminal justice training was paying off, though going in unarmed might prove interesting, he calculated.  “Leave her alone.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, leave her.  The fuck.  Alone.”

The guy was now only inches from colliding into him with equal ire.  “Make me.”

The assailant moved first, but Evan moved faster, and in short time the creep was lain out on the sidewalk, crawling away.  Evan rushed Annie into her apartment and huddled into her once inside her doorway.  He trembled with adrenaline, rage, and a deep fear for what could have happened to either of them.  She comforted him with soft coos of encouragement, inching him towards the couch.  Once he calmed down, they moved from the couch to the bed.

He never did quite get around to breaking it off.

~~~

When she got arrested, Evan went on radio silence.  He never told her he was married.  He never even told her he was back with Claudia at all.  The pressure of juggling two women he couldn’t live without was driving him insane, but now it looked like fate had chosen for him.

When she showed up at his door, he told her his first lie.

“I never loved you.”

He threw all his back payments at her feet as he told her about his wife.  He watched himself as if outside his body, shocked at his own coldness, at how easily he denied such a fundamental part of the past few years of his life.  But when she left, he thought he was free to break the façade and mourn the loss of one of his loves.  It turned out he had one more performance to give.

“So it was strictly business between you and Annie Benton.”  From the vantage point of the witness stand, Peter Bash seemed like the person who invented the stereotype of the sneaky lawyer, clearly a theatrical soul. “I mean, you’d pay her and she’d humiliate you…”

“Objection!”

“Uhh, perhaps the District Attorney isn’t familiar with the objective of sadomasochism after all her repressed years in Gamma Pi.”  Well, _they_ clearly had history.

“I’m not proud of my behavior.”  Annie wasn’t impressed.  He didn’t _want_ to read what Claudia’s face was saying about it from the back of the gallery.

“Well, we’re all pretty bizarre,” Peter conceded, “some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.”

Wait a minute.  Did he just-- Evan scoffed.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No, no actually you, uh, you said something stolen.  Emilio Estevez, _The Breakfast Club_.  That was his line.”

Uh-oh.  That smirk couldn’t be good.

“It’s my favorite movie.  Yours too, right?”  The glare Annie was giving him told him he was truly fucked this time.  “Along with _Wedding Crashers, Gremlins_ , and _Yentl_?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So you would discuss cinema in between lashes of her barbed whip?  And I’m not judging.”  Yes he was.

“No.”

“Yeahhh, sounds more like pillow talk between two people in love.  Don’t you think.”

Ah fuck.  “You know what, I dunno.”

Peter was talking, but Evan wasn’t listening.  He was watching Annie because he knew he fucked this up royally, and now everyone was going to know about it.  The look she gave him was devastating.  He wished he could just stand up and shout, “OKAY!  It’s true, I love her!  Just, just STOP!”

But he didn’t.

“Mr. Porter, I want you to look my client in the eyes and answer.  Are you now, or have you ever been, in love with Annie Benton.”

Yes.  Of course he was.  He’d been in love with her since that first night when she taught him how to use his body, how to let someone else use it for mutual pleasure.

He averted his eyes.

"No, no, I... never loved her."


	9. 2011

Perhaps Annie should have expected him to show up at her door a few days later, a nervous look in his eye and a hand rubbing his neck, the other clutching modest flowers.

“Hey,” she sighed wearily.

“Hey.”  The list of things she could say to him right then was inexhaustible, but she knew what he had come to say.  “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole.”

“It’s fine.”  It wasn’t.

“I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Evan sighed.  “You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you.”

“Do I ever?”

He forced a smile.  “No, I guess not.”

The silence was awkward, but the inability to put words to their feelings overrode that discomfort.  Annie tried to move things along.  “How’d she take it?”

“We’re not talking right now.”

Annie raised her eyebrow at that.  “And you’re here and not with her because…”

“Because you at least deserve a goodbye.  Claudia and I are moving back home.  She’s pregnant, and we don’t wanna raise our child in the craziness of LA.”

“Oh.”  She knew as soon as she found out about her that he’d choose Claudia.  Which didn’t make it hurt any less to hear.  “You should go then.”

“Yeah… I… I should go.”

“Goodbye, Evan.”

“Goodbye, Annie.”

~~~

One close call with the law being one too many for her, Annie enrolled in nursing school at the community college with some of the money she’d been saving while turning tricks.  The man who came in to speak to one of her classes was around her age, and they got to talking.

“What’d you say your name was?” he asked with a hint of flirtation.  She almost gave her first name as always, but in that moment she realized that a new life needed a new Her.

“Melissa.”  Annie Melissa Benton was moving on.  She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with no one saying her first name quite like Evan used to.  “Yours?”

“Andrew McCall.”

They started dating, and a month into their relationship she realized she was pregnant.  When she told Andrew in tears he said that it was fine, that he would support their child in any way he could, and that she wouldn’t have to face this alone, whatever her decision.  Of course, she was quite sure that it _wasn’t_ his child, but who could refuse an offer like that?  Especially when the person who was the biological father would never be in the picture again.

For six years, they were a relatively happy family:  Andrew got a job with the FBI, Melissa finished nursing school and got a job at a health clinic, and their son Scott was an unspeakable joy for both of them.  But he wasn’t doing well in Kindergarten because the other kids made fun of him, and she was quickly burning out at her clinic job, and in LA in general.  Thus, the summer before Scott entered first grade, they packed up and moved to Beacon Hills.  She knew Beacon Hills sounded familiar when she moved there, but she could never put a finger on why.  

Seeing her husband and Evan talking like old friends made it click.

They were hosting a barbecue for some of Andrew’s coworkers, when he entered the kitchen with her biggest regret, laughing at some random thing that only made sense to them.  She was staring at the two of them guppy-style when Andrew spotted her and jovially dragged a shocked Evan behind him.  (Scott certainly got his obliviousness from somewhere.)

“Evan, this is my wife.”  They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to move.  Then, Evan extended a tentative hand to Melissa.

“Hello.”  It comforted her to know that this was still just as painful for him as it was for her.

“Hi.”

Of course, the universe decided that it would be a good idea for Claudia to walk in the room at that exact moment looking to see where her husband had gotten to.  The women recognized each other in an instant.  Evan and Melissa retracted their hands as if like-minded magnets seeking the greatest distance possible.

“What the fuck.”

“Claudia, don’t.”

“You mean you conveniently forgot to mention that your ex-mistress is the wife of your best friend?!”

Melissa would’ve offered anything not to see the hurt and confusion and realization swirling around her husband’s face.

“I didn’t know!  How would I know that!”  Claudia stormed off, and Evan followed shouting her name to the concern of every guest.  Melissa tried very hard to follow them with her eyes instead of turning around to drown in that haunted face some more.

“What just happened?”

She wanted to vomit.  She wanted to scream.  She wanted to run far away and hide in the ocean for a few millennia.  She wanted to curl up in bed with her husband around her and have him tell her that everything was fine and he wasn’t mad.

She opted for dragging Andrew into their bedroom and softly explaining to him about her past life, every gritty tidbit she’d forgotten about.  When she was done, she focused on any minute sound she could find to drown out the vortex of silence that was her husband.  Finally, he responded.

“So then, Scott isn’t mine, is he?”

“He’s still your son, Andrew.  He might not be your blood but he will always be your son.”

“You had me convinced he was mine.”

“He _is_ yours!”

“Not anymore.”  Andrew strode out of the house and out of her and Scott’s lives for good.  She could cry, if she weren’t so damn numb from dealing with it all at once.

Evan called her a few weeks later and offered to take Scott in, seeing as he was technically ‘his’.  Melissa politely declined.  It wasn’t easy, but she made it work on her own.  She likes to think Evan respected her more for managing quite fine without him.  It became harder when Scott and Stiles became inseparable, which meant that she and Evan spent way more time together than anyone was comfortable with.  If Claudia had an opinion on the matter, she kept it to herself.  To her credit, Claudia was an absolute saint to Scott, and though he was nowhere near as torn up about her death as Stiles was-- for good reason-- it still weighed on him every once in a while.  Melissa made sure to give Stiles as much motherly attention as she could.  It was the least she could do to begin mending things with Claudia, if after the fact.

~~~

It occurs to her when the boys are around sixteen that her and Evan have more or less gotten over their bullshit.  He’s almost easy to be around again.  She tries not to lose sight of that when it all blows up in their faces and her former lawyers out them to the boys.  It goes as well as anticipated.  Scott doesn’t come out of his room for a few days.  She can’t say she blames him.


	10. Monday (2021)

Pacing around his cell trying not to think, Stiles hears his cell door clang open, the guard muttering something about a visitor.  He knows it’s not his dad; he’s long gone.  Peter peaks his head in with the lazy arrogance that is Peter, but a note of sympathy seems to soften his eyes.

“What do you want, Peter?”

The wolf sits down on the cot.  “Actually, I want to help.”  Stiles gives him the ‘yeah right’ glare.  “I know, it’s strange; believe me, I do love playing the God of Mischief around here, but in this particular instance, I think it behooves me to help.”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure I don’t want your help.”

“I killed Laura.”

“Spoiler Alert…” Stiles mutters.

“I killed a Hale, family, and then lied about it to the one person I had left.”  The teen huffs in excruciating boredom.  “Do you know how many Hales _Derek_ got killed?  Eleven.”

Stiles stops threateningly (well, as much as a human can) before him.  “If you don’t make your point soon I’m going to have to punch you in the face on principle.”

“My point is, my nephew and I don’t trust each other, for good reason.  We did things that destroyed any chance of getting our old relationship back.  But in case you missed it, we’re all we have left.  If we don’t kiss and make up, we’re completely alone.  And maybe that’s all fine and dandy for your everyday human, but for a wolf that’s death.  And yes, that includes wolf-adjacent humans like yourself.”

Stiles resumes pacing, getting increasingly pissed off the more Peter keeps talking.  “So what, you’re saying I should just forgive my dad at the drop of a hat and move on like everything’s fucking perfect?”

“You know, advice usually only works when you actually _listen_ to it.  I said nothing like that.  Things aren’t perfect.  Your dad cheated on your dead mother and sired your best friend.  You’ve been arrested because you killed a werewolf.  Obviously, you two are going to have entire railcars of baggage to wade through when this is all over.  But you and I aren’t so different.  Do I think Derek is a god-awful alpha?  Absolutely.  Do I still wanna help the poor sap succeed?  Of course; he’s the last of my family.  If he goes down, you know I won’t be far behind, if not because my lot is stuck to his by forces outside my control, then because I jump in after him like the loyal family member I am.”

“LOYAL?!” Stiles shouts.  “God Peter, how fucking insane are you?  You seriously think you and ‘loyal’ belong in the same sentence?  You’ve sold all of us up-river more times than any of us know combined.  Especially Derek.”

“Stiles, do you know what ‘the long game’ means?”

The prisoner rolls his eyes.  “Yes, I _am_ the smart one, remember?”

“Well then you know every long game has an endgame.  And what do you suppose mine is?”

“World domination?”

“My pack.  It has _always_ been my pack.  I made a pretty stupid mistake killing Laura— although I _was_ certified insane at the time, so a little leeway is appropriate— but it was for the pack.  At any rate, everything I’ve done the past two years has been to ensure that Derek, Cora and I survive.”

“Emphasis on the part about _you_ surviving.”

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyed concentration.  “A thought experiment: your father is on the rack being tortured by an alpha, and you are being made to watch.  But you have a choice: either he dies, or you let them take you to do with as they please, whether they turn you or kill you, or maybe just play with your tight little body a bit.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles spits.

“What do you choose?”

Stiles clenches his jaw and stares at Peter.  Finally, he gives the only answer that will make Peter go away: the truth.

“Sex slave it is.”

Peter smirks and indicates to the guard that he’s ready to leave.  “Just remember who you’re playing for, Stiles.”

When Peter has left, Stiles calls the guard back.  “Can you get my dad?  I need to talk to him.”

~~~

Evan approaches the cell gingerly and with great trepidation.  Of all the times for his past indiscretion to come to light, it had to be _today_.  His son— his _older_ son, he reminds himself— has every right to be furious with him about everything, from cheating on Claudia, to abandoning Scott, to lying about it, to leading Melissa on.  Nonetheless, he really wants Stiles not to hate him.

“Hey kid,” he chokes out, the guard opening the cell to him.

Stiles closes his eyes and breathes out with every effort at serenity.  “Hey dad.”

The elder Stilinski sits tentatively on the bed next to the younger and waits for him to speak first.

“How could you?”

Evan rubs his eyes with his palms.  “I don’t know, Stiles.  It just happened.  It all started out so simple and then it just got, complicated.”  The clicking of his son’s jaw and the unamused glare he sports tell him he better continue.  “I didn’t know what I wanted or why or how to get it, and it was so hard to leave either one because they both completed me in different ways.”

“Did you love Melissa?”

“Still do.”

“What about mom?”

“I still love her too.  I loved her when I met her, loved her when I married her, loved her when she had you, loved her even as she was dying.  I don’t think I can ever stop loving her.”

“How could you just abandon Scott like that?  He’s your son, my _brother_.”

“I didn’t know he was mine until you were six, and he already had a father until then.”

“Yeah, a freaking douchebag.”

“Granted.  But she didn’t want to confuse him and then Claudia died and it just became easier to forget.  I offered to help throughout the years, but she insisted she could handle it alone.  I think she was afraid of what would happen if she let me into her life again.  I still treated him like my son— I mean you know how often he was over at the house.  I practically raised the kid as it is.  He just didn’t know why.”

Stiles leans back against the wall and his father mimics the action.  They stay silent for a bit before Stiles can’t take it anymore.

“Did mom know?”

“Of course.  We had a huge fight about it, but eventually— and I mean it took a _while_ — she forgave me.”

“How?”

“I wish I knew, kid.”

Stiles leans his head on his father’s shoulder.  He’s not the best pillow, but it’s better than no pillow at all.

“Now, what’s this rumor I heard about you having a boyfriend…”

~~~

Peter arrives at his apartment to find a stressed out Damien and a _livid_ Cora.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Save me the teenage angst, Cora.  I just got enough of that from Stiles.”

“You turned a stranger _without his consent_ and left him alone without so much as a warning!”  ‘ _Again,_ ’ Peter adds cheekily in his head.

“And you handled it beautifully.  My god, they grow up so fast!”  Cora growls but he ignores her.  “Don’t you want to know how I did it?”

“I wanna know _why_ first, if you don’t mind.”  Damien’s eyes glow blue with frustration and confusion and betrayal and fear.  It stops Peter in his tracks.  If he thought the man was beautiful before, he’s mesmerizing now.

“You’ve killed an innocent.”

The newest wolf is taken aback.  “W- what?  No I haven’t.”  Lie.

“Your eyes are blue.”

“So?  What does that mean?”

“It means you were the right choice.”  He walks over to his new creation, but he is no closer, for Damien steps back cautiously.  “I’m not going to hurt you.  I just wanted you to understand.  I’m sorry if my methods upset you, but I couldn’t risk telling you and you walking out, and I certainly couldn’t let you screw things up for Stiles.”

“Why do you care so much about Stiles?”  The words are Cora’s but the sentiment is echoed in Damien’s incredulity.

“Because he’s the only one with his shit together enough to make the pieces fit when something’s wrong, and no one else seems to recognize that if this sticks we’re _all_ screwed— not just him or his family but all of us.  Let’s just say I’m protecting my investments.”

“By magically turning more people?”

Peter rolls his eyes.  “It’s not magic, I just bit him and dropped some of Aiden’s blood in the wound.  Technically, Aiden turned him.”

Cora’s whole body is shaking with disgust as she grabs her stuff and heads for the door.  “You’re next on the list when all this is over.”  The door slamming is too loud on all their ears, but Peter imagines that it was worth it to Cora.

“I’m sorry, Damien,” Peter tosses out as he sets to tidying the apartment.

“Yeah right,”

Peter stops.  “You know, you can tell when someone’s lying by their heartbeat.  Listen to mine.”

“Yeah, sorry if I don’t exactly trust a god-damn thing that comes out of your mouth.”

“Just listen.”  Damien sets his jaw but indicates that he’s listening.  “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing changed.”

“Exactly.  You’re ugly.”

Damien furrows his brow.  “That was a lie.”

Peter smirks, inching closer to ‘his’ beta.  “I’ll teach you yet.  I know it’s overwhelming, but it’s so worth it.”

Damien puts a firm hand out to stop him.  “Not tonight.  I need some time to process.”

The smile on Peter’s face stays put, but the one behind his eyes drops.  “Of course!  Just, call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Damien assures him before walking out the door.  They both try to ignore the fact they can hear his heartbeat falter when he says it.


	11. Tuesday

On Monday, Stiles is transferred to a federal high-security prison two hours away.  It’s an experience he never shares with anyone as long as he lives.

Kali (under great duress and significant pressure from Deucalion) and Derek are each arrested the next day for conspiracy and obstruction of justice.  Deaton, Evan, Lydia, and Scott are never formally charged, but they are held for the maximum amount of time allowed for interrogation.

Franklin and Bash agree to loft sit for Derek while he’s in jail, and Bash agrees to represent him while Franklin stays with Stiles.  They are at a loss about what to do for Kali when Karp of all people shows up at the loft door.

“Damien?  What the hell are you…”  The duo look at each other.  “Rachel.”

Damien sheepishly admits that’s why he came.  “But things have gotten a little, umm, complicated.”  When the boys finally pick their jaws up off the floor after seeing their colleague’s eyes change, they usher him in and ask the obvious question.  Well, questions.

“What the—“

“How did you—“

“And you—“

“So does that mean—“

Damien growls.  The boys shut up.

“I know Stiles is innocent, and I promise I’ll handle Rachel.  I’m going to take Kali’s case.  No, I did not _ask_ to be a werewolf.  No, I am absolutely **_not_** telling you how it happened.  Now let’s figure this out.”

~~~

Deucalion is literally a demon wolf.  This makes him generally terrifying.  But Peter Hale knows the great thing about facing a two-creatured enemy like that is that it has twice the weaknesses.

Drawing the demon trap is nothing complicated, and luring Deucalion into it takes only the slightest provocation.

“Well played, Peter.  I see you’ve done your homework.”

“Television these days is alarmingly accurate,” Peter muses.

“And the purpose of this is undoubtedly my status as alpha.”

“Naturally,” Peter positively beams as he puts on his safety gloves foppishly and takes out a stake.  “Mountain ash soaked in Holy Water and sprinkled with rock salt and wolfsbane.  Just in case.  Wouldn’t want to leave it to chance, now would we?”

“One question.”

The captor raises an eyebrow.  “Just one?”

“What makes you think anyone would follow you?”

The scowl Peter gives Deucalion causes him to cackle uncontrollably.  He’s laughing as Peter drives the stake into his heart, laughing with his dying breath.  Even his dead eyes mock the new alpha with unyielding laughter.

~~~

Stiles’ preliminary hearing is on Thursday.  Besides a large contingent of people from the Beacon Hills community, everyone in its supernatural community who’s still alive is there as well, Derek and Kali included.  Reactions to Peter as an alpha have not been positive, nor the turning of Damien Karp, but there is very little anyone can do with this many human witnesses.

“All rise!” someone intones with immense boredom as the judge enters the courtroom.  When all are once again seated, the judge opens her mouth to announce Stiles’ name, but stops, adjusts her glasses and focuses on the sheet in front of her.

“Screw this,” she mutters to herself.  Only the werewolves hear her, and they attempt to hide a snicker.

“Please state your full legal name for the court.”

Stiles stands and begrudgingly reveals why elementary school was not fun for him.  “Genim Szczęsny Przemysław Stilinski.  The Third.”  The judge blinks.  “But I go by Stiles.  Your Honor…”  He awkwardly sits down.

“Mr. Stilinski, you are charged with fourteen counts of murder in the first degree and conspiracy to commit murder.  The purpose of this trial is to confirm probable cause before you are asked formally to answer the charges.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“The prosecution may proceed.”

The DA, a man by the name of Rupert Kraftington, is a competent, no-nonsense man, fairly unattractive and clearly opposed to fun.  Jared Franklin intends to work with that.  Opening statements offer no surprises: the prosecution alleges that Stiles was behind all the murders, killed Aiden and Jennifer to tie up loose ends, and convinced Kali and Derek to help him murder Jennifer.  The defense alleges that aside from Aiden’s death, which he hopes to prove to be friendly fire as Stiles was trying to kill Jennifer in self-defense, all the other murders are tied to him only circumstantially.

The prosecution’s first witness is Deputy Tannen, the arresting officer the night Aiden died.  He testifies that he was called to the school to investigate a break-in when he heard arguing down the hall.  He heard gunfire and when he arrived on the scene, Aiden was dead on the floor with a bullet in his head, and Stiles was holding the smoking gun.

When it’s Jared’s turn, he plays it casual.  He’s worked enough cases in his time to know when to lay it on thick and when to let the facts speak for themselves.

“Deputy Tannen, how many gunshots did you say you heard?”

“Two.”

“And how many bullets were found at the crime scene?”

The deputy hesitates.  “One.”

Jared feigns shock.  “One?  Where’d the other one go?”

Kraftington tries to nip Jared’s shenanigans in the bud.  “Objection, relevance.”

“With all due respect, Your Honor, bullets don’t get up and walk away by themselves.  People do.  And since I’m trying to prove self-defense against a person not currently listed as being at the crime scene, I think it’s pretty glaringly relevant.”

“Overruled.  Witness will answer.”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you notice the state of the windows in the room?”

“They were open.”

“Were they cracked open or more person-sized?”

“They were wide open.  Actually,” (the look he gives his lawyer clinches it) “they were broken open.”

“From the inside or outside.”

“Inside.”

Score: Jared 1, The Man 0

~~~

The prosecution’s next witness is a little bit of a tougher pill for everyone— including the witness— to swallow.

“Mr. Stilinski, how long did you work for the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department?”

“Eighteen years.”

“And when was the first time your son, the defendant, was present at the scene of a murder investigation?”

“Last fall, the night Laura Hale was found.”

“And how many crime scenes has he been at since then?”

Evan sighs.  “Umm… maybe twenty, thirty?  But I mean--”

“And of the alleged victims, at how many of their crime scenes was he present?”

“All except five.”

“That you know of?”

The former sheriff glares at the lawyer.  “That I know of.”

Jared 1, The Man 1

~~~

“The defense calls Lydia Martin!”

The decision to call Lydia over Cora was a much deliberated one.  Although Cora was a more definitive alibi, Lydia was with Stiles at more crime scenes and, more importantly, she’s not a werewolf.  The fewer werewolves Jared puts on the stand, the better for everyone involved.

“Ms. Martin,” Jared begins with his pretty-boy grin.  Lydia preens a bit at that.  “How long have you known my client?”

“Since I moved here in the third grade.”

“He had a crush on you, right?”

“Every day for about 3000 days now.”

“But you and he have only started becoming friends recently.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Lydia pouts, and only those scrupulously aware of her body language— like Stiles— know that she’s embarrassed.  “Because he’s the only one who actually saw me and not just some photocopy of a person.  It took me a while to realize that.”

“He’s been there for you a lot recently, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah.  He…” they had practiced code phrases for past events to prevent disclosure, and she recalls them dutifully, “fought off the mountain lion that attacked me last year, saved my birthday party from disaster, helped me confront my ex-boyfriend… et cetera, et cetera.”

“And what about after that attack?  I heard— and forgive me if this is invasive— but I heard that you had what the doctors called a ‘fugue state’?”

She bites her lip in slight annoyance at having to dredge this up again, but she answers.  “Yes.  I ran naked in the woods for two days and had no recollection of it when I was found.”

“But this wasn’t your only fugue state, was it?”

“No.”

A murmur circulates through the packed courtroom.

“Order,” the judge warns.

“For how many of the murders my client is charged with were _you_ present at the crime scene?”

“All except five.”

More murmurs.  The judge bangs the gavel.

“And why were you there?”

“I found the bodies.”

Jared shoots her a concerned face with theatrical flair.  He approaches her kindly.  “And that freaked you out, right?  I mean I know if _I_ kept finding dead bodies I’d be a neurotic mess!  So when it would happen you’d call the one person you could trust, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d call Stiles.”

“And we all know Stiles will always come running for Lydia Martin.  No further questions, Your Honor.”

“The court will recess until tomorrow.”

Jared 2, The Man 1.


	12. Friday

Peter visits his nephew in jail.  He wisely stays outside the cell and in full view of the guards.

“You come to kill me?”

“No, I came to explain myself.  Let’s not forget who has a record of killing whom here.”

“Who’d you take it from?”

“Deucalion.”

Derek starts at that.  “You killed Deucalion.  By yourself.”

“It was shockingly easy once I knew how to go about it.”

“Why?”

“ _Why_?  Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have killed Deucalion yourself if you’d had the chance!  Derek, think.  On a scale of one to ten, how shitty of an alpha are you?  I’ll give you a hint: rotting in a jail cell counts as at least a five.”

“And you’re so much better?  Last time you were the alpha you went on a murder spree!”

“They deserved it!”  The guard looks about to move in, so they lower their voices.  “Look, if the end goal was to be an alpha I would have just killed you, but I didn’t.  Now we’re both alphas.  We’ll be safer now, and you don’t have to make the decisions you feel like you have to make.  We both know that you never wanted to be the alpha.  Now you don’t have to be.”

Derek sets his jaw and huffs through his nose, but he sees his uncle’s point.  He doesn’t _like_ it, but as far as explanations go, it’s the least insane one he’s heard from the man lately.

~~~

At his own hearing, Derek is as collected and expressionless as always.  Internally, his brain is bouncing off the walls of his skull, flying through thoughts of Peter’s new alpha status, the trial, _Stiles’_ trial, Jennifer, and the constant mantra of his life lately: It’s All My Fault.

Bash does his best to cheer him up by telling him of his crazy adventures with his partner— whether he means work partner or life partner has never really been made clear, but so far no one’s cared enough to ask.  It reminds Derek of Stiles’ constant rambling.  Weirdly, it grounds him.  On the stand, he is even more nervous, but Bash is in his element and it makes it that much easier to do this.

“Mr. Hale, please tell the court in your own words what you did last Sunday night.”

“Kali, a friend of mine,” his faltering heartbeat is loud in his ears, “called me over because she was scared that Jennifer would come after her next.”

“Why?”

“Because they were lovers many years ago, but they broke up.  It wasn’t very amicable.”

“But I thought you were seeing Jennifer now?”

He glares at Bash.  This is _not_ something he wants to talk about in front of people on record.

“I was.”

Bash moves closer with a sympathetic smile.  “It’s okay,” he whispers, “you’re doing great.”  Louder, he says, “and why did you two break up?”

“Because I found out she was a serial killer.”

“Objection!  Speculation.”

“Fine, because I _thought_ she was a serial killer.”

“Withdrawn.”

Bash smirks; he’s got an idea.  It might make his own case harder, but it’ll get Stiles off the hook.  “What happened when you got there?”

“Jennifer was there.  She tried to kill us so I shot her.”

“How many times?”

“Once.”

“Once?”

“Yes, in the head.”

Peter is beaming.  “I’d like to draw the court’s attention to exhibit A: the coroner’s report on Jennifer Blake.  Derek, please read to me how many bullets were found in her body.”

Derek allows himself a small smile back.  “Two.”

“And did the bullets match?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get the bullet you shot her with?”

“From Stiles.”

“Checkmate,” Peter whispers under his breath.  It elicits an imperceptible chuckle from the werewolf.  For the first time, Derek starts to hope that maybe everything will turn out just fine.

~~~

“Your Honor, I would like to enter the proceedings of _US v. Stilinski_ and _People v. Hale_ as exhibits A and B as they become available.”

“Why not, proceed.”

“Awesome,” Damien says to himself as he approaches the bench with copies of his colleagues’ cases.  He looks fairly confident from where Kali sits on the witness stand.  Whether it’s because of the case or his new werewolf powers, she can’t guess, but she hopes it’s not just the latter.

“Ms. Baccari, what was your relationship to Jennifer Blake?”

“Julia,” Kali insists, “her name was Julia Baccari.  She was my wife.”

“You got married before Prop 8, correct?”  Kali nods once.  “I’m sorry, you have to give verbal answers.”  

She growls.  “Yes.”

“But you haven’t been together in a decade.”

“No, we… didn’t work out.”

“But you kept her name?”

She glares at him.  “We’re not divorced, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Right, because you thought she was dead.”

She fixes him with wild eyes.  “What are you doing?!!” she hisses.  Kali does not like surprises.

“Trust me.”  She tries to calm herself down, none too successfully.

“Yes, I thought she was dead.”

“Why?”

The only ones who could call her on her half-truths wouldn’t dare, so she piles as many dead bodies under the bus as she can.  “I cheated on her with a man named Ennis.  When he found out I was married, he tried to get me to leave her and go with him, but I refused.  So he attacked her and left her for dead.  I went with him and his insane friends because I was afraid for my life.  He went missing about a month ago, around the time the murders started happening, and one day I saw her there at the school alive and it all came together.”

“Which is when you called Derek?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions.”

He flashes a  grin at her, and she lets out a breath.  One step closer towards getting this bullshit over with, towards finally getting away from her memories.  But her relief is short lived when the prosecution’s first question pulls no punches.

“The coroner’s report said she had been dead twenty-four hours before the 911 call.  Can you explain that?”

‘She had been dead for ten years,’ she thinks to herself.  “No, I can’t.”

~~~

Melissa has been avoiding her husband for a long time, even more so ever since Scott’s paternity became public knowledge.  But Andrew McCall has gone too far, and she realizes that the only one who can make him see reason is her.

“Hello, Andrew.”

“Melissa!  Why am I not surprised?”  He doesn’t look up from the files on his desk, and he is clearly trying to project authority.  Luckily for Melissa, she knows every trick in his book.

“Because you planned it this way.  I know you, I know how you work.  This isn’t about Stiles, this is about you and me and Evan.”

He snorts.  “Please, we settled that argument a long time ago.”

“Then why are you here?  The only reason the DA’s still pursuing Stiles as the serial killer is because you keep pressuring him to.  All the evidence points to Jennifer.”

“Convenient, isn’t it?  That the son of the sheriff is able to point to all this evidence that he’s innocent?  You don’t think it’s convenient that they’re all blaming a dead girl for the murders, whom one of them confessed _on the stand_ to killing?”

“Did you know Evan was missing when Stiles shot Aiden?  I had to treat him for mistletoe poisoning.  Same with Danny Mahealani, who said he hadn’t seen Stiles all day until _after_ he almost died.  Same with Cora Hale, whom several witnesses say he’d been trying to save.”

“All of whom he’s friends with.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, okay?  How many times do I have to apologize for that?!  This is out of hand, Andrew, and you know it.  You can _not_ punish a sixteen-year-old boy for my mistakes and the mistakes of his father.”

“Why not?  He took my son, now I’m taking his.  Why shouldn’t he suffer what I suffered?”

“Claudia’s dead.  That’s punishment enough.”  She storms out of the office, and makes it all the way to her car before completely breaking down.


	13. Friday; Epilogue

Jared walks into the courtroom cautiously optimistic that everything would be okay.  Maybe.  Okay, he’s a _little_ worried, but after Peter found his missing bullet for him, his lanky white knight assured him before he left for his own meeting with the DA that everything would be fine.

He notices a swath of gauze on his client’s face and rushes over to the table.

“Dude, what happened?”

Stiles forces out an embarrassed laugh.  “Mouthed off to the wrong guy.  Quick learning curve in there.  No wonder Derek’s so surly.”

“Nah, I think that’s just him,” Jared smiles, the concern never leaving his eyes.  He notices Stiles fidgeting more than usual.  “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Yeah I know.  I mean, it’s only my entire life on the line but what could go wrong, right?  Hey, do you think they’ll let me practice magic in there if I say it’s my religion?”

“I’m not gonna let you rot in jail.  But, I will _absolutely_ help you get magic recognized as your religious beliefs!  Wait, so then magic is legit?”

“There’s a difference between illusions and magic.  You’re an illusionist.  I’m training to be a magician.”

“Fuck that, I wanna be a magician!”

Stiles laughs.  “You’ll have to talk to Deaton about that.”

They stand as the judge enters.  Stiles remains standing.  Jared’s not sure the kid’s calm enough to do anything else right now.

“Mr. Stilinski, you are charged with murder in the first degree for the death of Aiden Walker.  How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

“Very well, the trial shall be scheduled for next month.  Mr. Stilinski will be immediately transferred to a medium security state facility.  Court is adjourned.”  The judge leaves.  The random people lingering in the courtroom leave.  Stiles and Jared just stand there shell-shocked.

“Did she just—“

“Am I—“

“Dude.”

“They dropped the other charges.”

“They dropped the fucking charges!!”  The two men radiate white dwarf levels of sunshine from their faces as they crush each other in the most epic bro-hug in history.

“We did it!!!”  Stiles is still beaming when the bailiff takes him away, yakking a mile a minute while Jared just laughs.

He calls Peter as soon as he’s out of the room.  “Dude!”

“They dropped the charges!”

“I KNOW!  We’re officially badasses!”

“Damn right!  Damien’s on his way to get Kali right now.  Derek had to enter a plea for Jennifer, but we posted bail.  Do you have a date for Stiles’ trial yet?”

“No, but they’re transferring him to state instead of federal.”

“Alright!  We need to celebrate.”

“Dude, ask Derek if we can use the loft.”

“He rolled his eyes and said don’t break anything.”

“Wait, can werewolves get drunk?”

About half a liquor store and many questionable decisions later, they discover the answer is a resounding yes.

~~~

As Damien is leaving the party, he feels Peter Hale staring him down.

“What do you want, Peter?”

“You.”

Damien rolls his eyes.  “Well you can’t have me.  I’m still angry at you.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Doesn’t make it true.”

Peter sighs.  “Do you really hate being a wolf that much?”

The lawyer blinks.  “Well, no, but uh,”

“I’ll admit, my methods are… frowned upon, but you can’t argue with the results.”  Damien tries to walk away, but Peter whines high in his voice and it stops the beta where he stands.  “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?  Very well, you deserve that.  Just because I’m an evil genius doesn’t mean I don’t have very strong feelings about things and people.  And I feel _very_ strongly about you.  I’m not--” he stops, and moves closer so that his voice is only in the ear of the object of his desire.  “I don’t want to hurt you.  I want to make you the best you can be.  I want you to be my partner.”

Damien shivers.  “How can I possibly trust that?”

“Let me show you.”

Reluctantly, Damien gives it a shot.

~~~

Evan tries not to take it to heart when Scott growls at him from upstairs and shuts his bedroom door.  Melissa rolls her eyes and leads him into the kitchen where she busies herself making coffee while he takes up tracing the grains in the table with his fingers.

“Is he at least talking to you?”

“Uh, no but I mean he’ll come around eventually, right?  He can’t hate me forever.  Can he?”

He gently grabs onto her hand as it sets down his coffee cup.  “No one could hate you forever.”  She slips her hand out of his.

“Evan, don’t.”

“Why not?  Obviously avoiding it hasn’t done anyone any good.”

“Yeah well, I’m all for avoiding it.”

When he responds, it’s in a quiet, vulnerable voice she hasn’t heard in almost twenty years.  “I still love you.”  She freezes.  A crash upstairs indicates Scott’s opinion.

“Excuse me?”

“I know you might be done with me, but I realized the only thing stopping me from coming to you was me.  I figured now that everything’s in the open--”

“That you could just shuffle in and save the day?  Sorry but that’s not going to happen.”

He puts up his hands in surrender.  “Okay, okay.  I get it.  I’ll get out of your hair.  I just… had to try.”  He gets up to leave.  “If you change your mind, I’m still interested.  And I’m sorry.  For everything.”  She nods.  When the coast is clear, Scott comes downstairs and sits across from his mother at the table.

“Do you love him?”

She is the picture of bewilderment.  “What?  No, I--”  He huffs in annoyed resignation.  She will never get used to werewolf lie detection.

“Wait right here.”  Scott bolts out the door, and a few minutes later, Evan and Scott walk back through the front door.  He makes Evan sit at the table and gives his mom a half-hearted version of his lopsided grin.  He sits between them and calmly proceeds.  “Try it again.”

She knows an olive branch when she sees one.

~~~

A search of Jennifer’s apartment turned up maps and magic paraphernalia and information on each of the victims, as well as everyone in the pack or pack-adjacent.  She could be placed definitively at nearly every crime scene and had no discernible alibi for the remaining ones.  Once the police had taken everything that could be considered evidence, the Argents wiped the place clean of any and all traces of the supernatural.  Her supplies were kept available as a training kit for when Stiles got out, because they all knew he would.

As for Agent McCall, he stopped by the house of his former best friend.  Evan Stilinski welcomed Andrew in and the two talked and argued and laughed and cried, and at the end, they reached an understanding.  Having finally gotten the closure he needed on this chapter of his life, Andrew left Beacon Hills for good.

Kali was granted access to her wife’s body and took it with her to her old territory a few miles from Beacon Hills.  The pack made her burn the bones, just in case.  She buried what was left of her there and never looked back.  Last anyone heard, she was in Portland.  They would never pretend to be allies, but at the very least the packs and Kali were able to agree to a truce.

Derek and Stiles’ trials were fairly anticlimactic.  Franklin and Bash would bet it was the first time most of the pack had let Stiles know just how much they appreciate him.  As for Derek, Deaton managed to explain away the time discrepancy in Jennifer’s death, though it would probably be more accurate to say ‘memory spelled away’.  Both were acquitted and touted as heroes.  

That’s not to say things go back to normal.  Stiles returns from prison with a collection of triggers that the packs learn to avoid, such as grabbing his wrists or a certain brand of deodorant, and a scar that disrupts the smoothness of his right cheek.  He is still the same snarky, flailing, optimistic goofball he was, but it comes with a newfound maturity that is both becoming and haunting.

The Stilinski-McCalls are the textbook definition of a dysfunctional family, and it takes everyone a while to get used to each other again, now that everything is in the open.  But even if family dinners get tense every so often, not one of them would say they aren’t happier now than they were a month ago.

The case gives Infeld, Daniels and King a great reputation and when the boys return they give Rachel the smuggest grins they can.  She rolls her eyes fondly and laughs it off.

The office is less fun for them without Damien there to terrorize.  The wolves have formed a federation of sorts, in four groups of alpha-beta-emissary: Peter, Damien, and (begrudgingly) Lydia as philosophers; Derek, Cora, and Deaton as guardians; Scott, Isaac, and Melissa as healers; Ethan, a newly-turned Danny, and Morell as warriors; and of course Stiles, the virgin and elected president of what he calls The Werewolf Breakfast Club.  He also likes to say that they added a sixth category in their calculations: Allison, Chris, and Evan, the hunters.  The boys still visit sometimes, and the weekend Stiles was released is referred to among them all as ‘The Weekend That Shall Not Be Named’.

Back in Malibu during their traditional diner dinner together, Bash poses a question to Franklin.

“Okay, I’ve got one.  ScarJo shows up at the house and wants to have sex with you.  The catch is, she’s a newly turned werewolf and it’s the full moon.  Do you go for it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Explanation of Trigger Warnings: Stiles spends the majority of this fic in prison, and it is implied that he is raped/sexually assaulted (2 separate lines in passing), as well as being physically assaulted (discussed but not shown in ch 13 section 1 and 1 line in passing). Kali and Derek are also more-or-less wrongfully imprisoned. General Peter Hale warning; it is unclear whether he is manipulating Damien or actually cares for him. He bites and turns him non-consentually after an otherwise-consentual hook-up (ch 5 section 3). Evan breaks up with Claudia, starts a relationship with Annie, then gets back together with Claudia without either breaking up with Annie or telling her about Claudia (ch 8). Melissa doesn't inform her boyfriend-turned-husband he's not the biological father of her child (ch 9).
> 
> Fun Fact: I don't own Teen Wolf or Franklin & Bash. For example, if you recognize some of the dialogue in chapter 8, it's because I blatantly borrowed it from F&B 1x1. Oh and there's a quote from TW 3x10 in there somewhere that I modified to make sense.


End file.
